


Untitled

by shutupmisty



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Other, and it's only one (1) chapter, hopefully i can bang out some more but like, i don't really think i need to tag anything else ???, i wouldn't know what to tag tbh, idk!!!!!!!!, the Most EffortTM i've ever put into fanfiction?, this is..............
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-17 21:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16104014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shutupmisty/pseuds/shutupmisty
Summary: Just some wholesome and mundane moments that the characters deserve. Mostly Mileven oriented, but I won't neglect other relationships. Later on, Things might get Stranger once again.





	Untitled

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is my first fic in years, and I'm very nervous but also pretty confident. Comments are always welcome, and that includes CONSTRUCTIVE criticism. I'm always eager to learn and improve, so please feel free to help on that! I have a beta (beautiful, wonderful Marti!!!!!!!!), but there could still be a few spelling/grammar/punctuation mistakes, so if it's super bad just lmk! Otherwise, I think we'll live.
> 
> I do apologize for all the POV switches, but like...... the characters control me. Also, it's under Untitled only temporarily. I'm super bad at titles, so if you have any suggested, please feel free to share! Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmm..... I don't remember what else I wanted to say? Yeah, whatever. Love ya, cuties.

Mike gets it. The Bad Men are always going to be after Eleven, probably for as long as she lives. The whole thing with the Mind Flayer and the Gate, and Murray Bauman exposing Hawkins Lab caused quite an uproar with the government. They’re probably on edge, more alert than ever. Waiting about a year is logical, and Mike _gets_ it.

But, also, he just wants to see Eleven.

Now that he knows she’s alive and safe(ish), his longing for her has grown more intense. It’s like trying to hold smoke in his hands. It’s there, he knows it, but it’s intangible. It’s like when he was smaller, standing on a chair to sneak some of the cookies from the cupboard, but no matter how much he stretches his arm, they were always _just_ out of reach.

“Can I see her once? Please?”

Mike’s made an impromptu visit to the station again, begging Hopper to let him visit her at the cabin, or at the very least somewhere well secluded. Hopper, as always, refuses.

“Don’t you have homework, kid?” Mike does, but that’s hardly the point right now. “You should get home.”

“Stop sidestepping!” Mike snaps, slamming a hand on Hopper’s desk, causing the complete disarray of random papers and documents tremor for a split second. “Just answer the damn question!”

“You know the answer,” Hopper mutters, taking a hit off his particularly nauseating cigarette as he fidgets with the overly clicky knobs on his typewriter—a technique Mike’s picked up as Hopper’s attempt to annoy people out of his office. It worked the first few times, but Mike’s made enough visits that he’s learned to tune it out. “Why don’t you run along now, okay? I got a lot on my plate right now.”

“Like what? Eating a box of donuts in one sitting?” It’s a bit of a low blow considering how much Hopper’s actually done to protect this town. He’s gone above and beyond the call of duty, something most chief officers can’t say they’ve done. “Hawkins is back to normal. Boring and quiet. Which means you haven’t got shit to do. And—”

“And nothing. You’re gonna have to wait, kid, just like everyone else.”

Mike groans, pushing himself away from Hopper’s desk to take a breather, collect his thoughts. If only he had a high charisma score like his D&D character. He could easily persuade Hopper to allow him to visit Eleven. Just once.

“Listen,” Hopper exhales a sigh, digging something out of his pocket and tossing it on his table as he takes another puff. “Your friend Will drew this for Eleven, all right? He draws her a picture every week or so. His way of saying ‘thank you’ for saving him.”

Mike takes the piece of paper and unfolds it, revealing it to be a drawing of Eleven fighting monsters. It has his personal style and everything. The corners of his lips tug a bit as he examines it, appreciating the way he captured her determined face so perfectly. Has Will even seen her like this before?

Before Hopper realizes Mike’s mood has gone soft, he folds the picture and places it back on the table. “So, what do you want me to do? Draw her stick figures? I’m no artist, Chief.”

Hopper groans, rubbing his face with both hands as a bit of ash falls from his cigarette. “I don’t get paid enough for this.”

Mike rolls his eyes, waiting (im)patiently for the chief to explain himself.

“I just mean,” he takes the picture and stuffs it back in his pocket, “you could write her a letter or something. It’s not the same, I know, but it’s something.”

Mike sighs with a nod, deciding that arguing with Hopper has done nothing but cause more animosity between the two. They’re not exactly on the best terms to begin with given that Mike still hasn’t forgiven him for hiding El away for a year. To an extent, he understands, just like he understands Hopper keeping her away now. It just sucks to have spent so long worrying that she was dead, or worse, back in the hands of the Bad Men.

“Okay,” Mike nods, taking a seat in one of the chairs opposite of Hopper as he grabs a pen off the cluttered desk. “Okay, I’ll do that.”

Hopper tosses a blank sheet of paper in Mike’s direction, watching the kid fumble to catch it as it flutters to the floor. A chuckle passes his lips, but Mike doesnt seem to hear. “You know I’m gonna have to read it before I give it to her, right? I can’t have you two making secret plans behind my back.” He’s not serious—well, mostly he’s not. He just enjoys seeing the Wheeler kid squirm a bit. “I’m kidding.”

Mike smiles a bit, glancing up from the paper at Hopper before returning his attention to writing his note for Eleven. It takes him a while, and it’s only until Mike has half the page filled that Hopper wonders what the hell a he’s gotta say to take up that much paper and ink. They’re kids. Wouldn’t a ‘hey, what’s up?’ suffice? Then again, neither Mike nor Eleven are normal kids. Supernatural powers aside, they have a bond Hopper’s barely even seen in adults. Though, something about it feels familiar to him. He just can’t place his finger on it.

“Are you writing her a novel, kid?” Mike glares up at him and Hopper raises both hands in surrender before reaching to snuff out his cigarette in the ashtray.

After a moment, Mike looks up. “What time will you be home?”

Hopper finds the question odd, but he decides to not overthink it. “About four or so. Eleven wants me to help her cook dinner tonight.”

Mike nods before scribbling something down. Hopper wants to ask, but understands that it’s really not his business. It does leave him worrying that Mike’s planning something he _should_ know about. The thing with teenagers, he’s learned, is that he has to trust them sometimes, otherwise they won't trust him.

After a couple of more minutes, Mike takes a moment to proofread the letter before folding it and writing Eleven’s name on it. “Okay,” he says, holding it up, but not out for Hopper to grab, as if worried he may actually read it. Hopper has a feeling there’s nothing Mike’s hiding, it’s just that personal. “You really won’t read it?”

“Why, you say something bad about me?” Hopper chuckles, taking the note from Mike and adding it with Will’s drawing. “It’s fine. It’s between you and her. I get it.”

Mike nods, seemingly accepting that Hopper will respect their privacy. “Thanks…. Sorry for being a pain in the ass.”

Hopper shrugs, leaning back in his chair as he folds his hands behind his head. “I expect nothing less from a Wheeler.”

Mike laughs at that, clearly understanding the stubbornness of his family. At least most of his family, anyway. Ted’s always been a bit of an apathetic pushover. “Don’t forget to give it to her, okay?”

Hopper waves for Mike to leave now, nodding his head. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry. I’ll have her write you a note back, too.”

Mike smiles, pleased with Hopper’s cooperation. Or, at the very least, his compromise.

Halfway happy.

 

Mike hurries home on his bike, ecstatic that he and Eleven will have some kind of contact now. Honestly, why hadn’t he thought of it before? Obviously the Supercoms are too dangerous given that Hawkins Lab is notorious for eavesdropping on phone calls and radio channels. But an actual letter? Mike would love to see the smug bastards pry it from Hoppers meaty hands.

Throwing his bike lazily into the front lawn, Mike burst into the house, unintentionally alerting everyone of his presence.

“Mike? Is that you?” His mother’s voice calls from the kitchen before meeting him in the foyer, Holly perched on her hip. “Where have you been?”

Mike shrugs, kicking off his shoes. “Lucas needed help with some homework. I should have called, sorry.”

His mom cocks her head to the side and gives him one of her looks that tells him that she doesn’t believe a single word of it. Or as he and Nancy have coined as the “I Call Bullshit Look”. “I just spoke with Lucas, asking him where you were. He said he didn’t know.”

Mike wishes his has El’s powers so he could actually, mentally kick Lucas.

“Michael, you don’t have to lie about where you were, you know. I was just worried, that’s all.” Mike nods before making his way up the stairs, stopping halfway up when she clears her throat. “I still want to know where you were, though.”

Shit. What’s he supposed to say? “I went down to the station.”

Her eyes widen and he supposes maybe that statement could have meant a lot up things. “The station? As in the _police_ station?” Worry fills her expression even more now, and Mike shrugs as if to say it’s no big deal. Because it’s not. “Why on earth were you at a police station? Is everything all right? Are you—?”

“Mom! It’s fine. I was just,” he pauses as he glances away, not even knowing how to explain his relation to Hopper. There is no explanation. Not without telling her everything about Eleven, the Upside Down, etc, etc.

“Michael?”

Mike returns his gaze to his mother, realizing he still hasn’t answer her question. “I was just talking to the chief, uh… I’m writing an essay, so I thought maybe his specific point of view would be helpful.”

This seems to bring calm to his mom, and she simply nods her head for a moment. “What’s the essay about?”

“Jesus, Mom, is it really necessary to give me the third degree?” he snaps, rolling his eyes. “I have a lot of homework to do. Can I go now?”

That doesn’t please her much at all, but she nods slowly, admitting defeat. He’s fairly certain she’ll bring it up sometime later, so he either needs to find an excuse as to why he never wrote the essay, or actually write a fake essay. Future Mike can sort out that problem for himself.

Before she has time to protest, he runs quickly up the stairs, making a beeline for his room and shutting the door. Throwing his bag on the floor, he plops down in his desk chair. Homework doesn’t even seem interesting right now. Not that it ever is, but still. It’s just silly. Unnecessary, even. Especially after fighting demodogs and Mind Flayer. A lot of normal things just seem so.... _mundane_.

Even though it doesn’t feel important, it still is. So, he reluctantly unzips his bag and pulls out his science homework, deciding to tackle that first given that he actually enjoys it. It doesn’t take him long at all. It’s stupid easy, and honestly, so is math. It’s sometimes fun, but usually just monotonous. That takes him about forty-five minutes or so since his thoughts are too distracted by the thought of El and his letter.

What’s next? Nothing, he decides. The rest isn’t due for a couple of days, anyway, so he decides to call it quits. Just as he drops his pencil, his mom calls everyone for dinner. Taking a look at the clock, he realizes it’s 5:03. Shit. He has twelve minutes to eat.

Like a bullet, he’s out of his room and zooming down the stairs two steps at a time, nearly knocking over Nancy as he passes her.

“Hey, watch it!” she shouts, behinds him. Somehow, he manages to hear her breath “asshole” before he enters the dining room.

Sliding into a chair at the table, he bumps into his mom as she lays a plate of chicken on the table, causing her to momentarily lose her balance.

“Hey, hey. What’s the rush?” she laughs, clearly misunderstanding his haste as enthusiasm. His mother’s proud of her cooking, as she should be, so she probably just thinks he’s excited to eat. Not totally untrue.

“I just have so much homework,” he says, dipping a serving spoon into the mash potatoes. “I need stamina, you know. You’re food’s the best. Keeps the engine running.” What the hell is he even saying?

Whatever it was, it works. His mom grins in reaction to his poor flattery. Moms are so easy. “Hopefully I’ve cooked enough for you.”

“You always do,” he says, eating the mash potatoes he’s dumped on his plate as he grabs a chicken breast.

“You’re such a kiss-ass,” Nancy murmurs as she takes a seat next to him, rolling her eyes and grabbing a breast for herself.

“Language,” their mom scolds, pointing a finger as if to emphasize it. “Mike, can you try to feed Holly some green beans? She won’t eat them for me.”

Mike sighs, already preparing to whine that he doesn’t want to, but she gives him a look. For some reason, Holly will only eat foods she doesn’t care for if Mike—specifically Mike—does the stupid airplane thing. Honestly, she’s too old for this.

“Fon,” he says with a mouthful of chicken.

“Please don’t speak while you chew, sweetie.”

He swallows. “Fine,” he repeats, grabbing Holly’s fork and stabbing a few green beans. “Holly. Holly, look! Your food can fly!”

Making poor motor sounds, Mike hovers the green beans in front of her, swaying them left and right as he moves it closer to her mouth. Usually, this trick is to get babies to laugh so you can shove the food in their mouth, but in Holly’s case, the food just seems yummier if it’s silly. Well, he guesses that’s her logic, anyway. Children are dumb.

It works, so whatever.

“You’re a miracle worker, son,” his dad says in his usual, monotone voice. Is he impressed? Is he being sarcastic? Mike will never know with that guy.

Feeding Holly and himself at the same time proves difficult, and his mom suggests he feed Holly first. What she doesn’t understand is that he’s pressed for time right now. In fact, it’s already 5:09. It’s tempting to just feed Holly and skip dinner for himself, but he knows his mom won’t approve of that.

“Mom, I don’t have time,” he admits, stabbing more green beans for Holly. “Chugga-chugga, choo-choo!”

“And what exactly is so important?” There’s a hint of offense to her voice, as if nothing could be more important than tricking his sister into eating vegetables.

“I just,” he sighs, sticking the fork into Holly’s mouth one more time. How’s he supposed to tell her that he wrote for his telepathic friend to enter a mind void so that she can visit him? He can’t. After failing to come up with a believable excuse, he stabs the green beans again. “Nevermind.”

Surprisingly, he manages to feed both Holly and himself just as the clock strikes 5:15. Feeling somewhat lucky that he’ll only be a little late, Mike jumps up from his chair, wiping his hands on a cotton napkin in the process. This doesn’t warrant an interrogation from his mother since everyone seems to be finishing at the same time.

Just as he thinks he’s free to flee the scene, his mom calls him back. Stopping in his tracks, Mike turns to face her, shoulders slumping in disappointment. What _now_?

“Where do you think you’re going?” she asks, quirking an eyebrow at him as she unbuckles Holly’s booster seat.

“Homework?” What the hell else has he got to do on a Thursday night?

Wiping Holly’s hands with a wet rag, his mother shakes her head. “It’s your turn to do the dishes tonight, dear.”

_Shit_. She’s right. Dad did them last night, and Nancy did them two nights before. “Why can’t Nancy do them again?”

“Yeah, that’s a no,” Nancy says, gathering the dirty dishes from the tables. “I have to study for my finals.” More like sneak out to meet up with her new boy toy, Jonathan. Gross.

“Michael,” she says sternly, pulling Holly from her chair and propping her on her hip. “No excuses.”

“But—”

“You have very little responsibility in this house, Michael. You’ll survive.”

“I’m expecting a call,” he blurts, immediately regretting the decision.

“Your friends can wait. You see them everyday.”

Then it dawns on him. Eleven has to be a secret, but not Jane. If Mike knows anything about his mother, it’s that she’s an absolute sucker for romance. Not that this is what it is, but he could sell it as such.

“It’s from a girl.” This grabs her attention.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he says, glancing over at the clock. It’s 5:18. Unfortunately, Eleven will be watching him argue with his mom. Fortunately, that will at least explain why he’s not speaking directly to her.

“What’s her name?” A grin tugs at her lips, but he can tell she’s trying to refrain. Apparently she’s learned over the years that if she shows any hint of amusement from her kids’ romantic lives, they’ll shut down completely. Mom’s are dumb, but man, they’re smart sometimes. “Is she in your class?”

“Uh, no. She, uh….” Lying isn’t his forte, sadly. That’s more of Dustin’s skill. That kid’s so good at coming up with stories. Then again, the same kid convinced their science teacher to tell them how to build a sensory deprivation tank by simply saying it was “for fun.” Maybe he has his own supernatural gifts. “She’s new in town, actually. Her name’s Jane and…. I don’t know. I think I really like her.”

“Say no more. I completely understand. You can talk to your, um, friend, and then do the dishes? Deal?”

Ha, what a fool.

Nodding enthusiastically, Mike gives her a thumbs up before bolting to the basement.

“You have one hour!” she calls, but Mike’s too far down the stairs to bother calling back. Also, an hour’s way too long. El would be absolutely drained from being in the Void for that long. Which sucks, but it’s not like Mike has that much to say, anyway.

Plopping down under the fort—Eleven’s fort—Mike picks up his Supercom. It’s unnecessary to talk into it since she can hear him regardless, but it would feel silly just to speak to thin air.

“Hey, El,” he says with a grin, not bothering to click any buttons. It’s set on the same channel as the party, who would undoubtedly eavesdrop if given the chance. “Sorry that took so long. Mom was being... well, a mom.” He laughs, still feeling like an idiot anyway since this is a completely one sided conversation. Complete silence aside from the washing machine beating the hell out of the dryer upstairs.

“I can’t wait to see you,” he tells her, hoping that she’s already tuned in by now. If only there was a way he could tell she was there. There’s no hint of her presence, but there seldom ever is. It’s only happened a couple of times, when he was really, desperately calling for her. “I keep asking Hopper if I can, but he’s convinced you’d be in danger. Maybe he’s right. I don’t wanna risk your safety.”

What else should he say?

 

Hopper comes home early, as promised the night before. Eleven’s noticed he’s getting better with his promises, but more so he’s gotten better with letting her know when he’ll be late. Which, is most of the time. Sometimes they argue about it, but she’s learned that his job is important. Even if there isn’t a whole lot going on in town these days, his job provides money, which buys food. Particularly, Eggos.

“It’s four zero eight,” she mutters as Hopper crosses the threshold of the front door, tearing her gaze away from the television.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry, traffic was bad,” he explains, placing his hat on one of the hooks on the wall. “But, hey, eight minutes. That’s not so bad, right?”

“It’s good,” she agrees with a smile and a nod, pushing herself off the couch. “Ready?”

“Yeah, let me just relax for a minute, okay?” Hopper takes a seat at their little table, leaning back and exhaling a long breath. “Did you pick a recipe?”

“Three,” she says, grabbing the cookbook from the counter and placing it in front of him. “These.” Eleven flips to each recipe, all marked with folded corners.

Hopper nods as he flips back to the first bookmarked recipe. “Shepherd’s pie,” he mutters, nodding more. “That’s a good one. We got all the ingredients?”

“Um,” Eleven bends over to see the page better, running her finger along the ingredients list as she tries to remember which one was missing, if any. “No ground beef.”

“Ah, shit. Sorry, kid,” he tells her, giving her an apologetic look. Hopper forgets to go grocery shopping a lot, so this isn’t anything new to Eleven. It’s not like he usually buys ingredients, anyway. The usual shopping trip consists of beer, bacon, TV dinners, and Eggos, of course. “How about this one?” Hopper flips to the next recipe, Eleven’s least favorite of the three.

Cheese and broccoli casserole.

“This sounds good,” says Hopper, tapping the page as if to emphasize his approval.

Eleven wrinkles her nose, second guessing that choice. It's not that she hates broccoli, but she doesn't too much care for it. The only reason that was bookmarked was because they happen to have most, if not all, the ingredients.

“We can say that's a maybe,” Hopper suggests, flipping to the last recipe. “Baked potato! Hot damn, kid. That's what I'm talking about!”

Eleven’s eyes light up, pleased to know that it was a good choice. Not only do they have everything they need, but this recipe sounded the simplest for a beginner cook.

“Easy?” she asks, making sure this won't be too much of a challenge for them.

Hopper nods with a grin, rising to his feet as he holds the cookbook. “You just gotta pop this bad boy in the oven for a while, then top it with whatever you like.”

“Like Eggos?” she asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yeah, kinda like Eggos. Yeah.” After setting the cookbook on the counter near the sink, Hopper grabs a couple of potatoes from their basket of veggies on the floor. It’s going a little bare as well, and he can’t help but wonder where the time has gone. Didn’t he just go shopping like…. Okay, maybe it’s been a while. “Grab the casserole dish from the top cabinet.”

Eleven nods obediently, turning to open the cabinet. The dish is on the top shelf, so she has to reach quite a bit. Actually, her fingers barely scrape the bottom of the top shelf. Hopper watches, smiling in amusement as she struggles. After a moment, her hand finally clutches the dish. Not because of her determined stretching, but because she’s made herself float closer to the shelf.

“Hey, no cheating,” Hopper chuckles as she gently lowers herself back to the ground. Grabbing a paper towel from a nearby roll, Hopper sets the potatoes on the counter. “You can’t be getting a nosebleed while we cook,” he laughs again, gently placing his hand behind her head as he wipes her nose.”

“Sorry,” she says quietly, looking ashamed of herself.

“Hey, no. It’s okay,” he assures her, tossing the napkin in the garbage. “That was actually, uh… _bitchin’_.”

Eleven smiles, relieved to know she hasn’t done anything wrong. In Hopper’s opinion, her usage of her powers needs to kept to an absolute minimum once they’re not hiding in the woods anymore. They can’t have any nosey visitors catching her through the window. That can be a discussion for another day, though. He’d rather focus on teaching her how to cook.

“So, what’s the recipe say, kid?” He waits as she reads the page, using her finger to help her keep track of where she is.

“Pre...preheat oven at four two five,” she says before setting the casserole dish down and walking over to the stove, searching it for a moment before turning a knob.

“Four hundred and twenty-five,” he corrects.

“Four hundred and twenty-five,” she repeats under her breath.

“Are you sure that’s for the oven?” he asks, noticing that she’s turned one for one of the stove burners.

“How do I know?”

Hopper meets her at the stove, turning the knob back to ‘0’. “See these here are for the burners, see?” He points to the four separate knobs and the chipped symbols by them indication which knob is for which burner. “And this one all the way to the left is for the oven.” It used to say oven above it, but that’s chipped away over the years.

Eleven nods, moving the knob to 425. When she looks up at Hopper, he nods his head towards the book.

“Let’s see what it says.”

Eleven makes her way back to the book, bending over as as gathers her long, dark hair behind her head. “Wash and… dry potatoes… thur… thur....”

“Thoroughly.”

“Thur… _thoroughly_.”

“Sounds good. Want me to help?”

Eleven shakes her head as she grabs both potatoes, already manipulating the faucet with her mind. Hopper will never not be completely amazed by her ability to do that, even when it’s just moving a small handle.

“Cheater,” he mutters with a small chuckle.

She glances sheepishly at him as she holds the potatoes under the water.

“You’ll want to rub them good.” Hopper gets most of his vegetable from Merrill’s farm since he’s so close. Unfortunately, he never cleans them before selling them to folks. “They have lots of dirt on them.”

Nodding, Eleven does as she’s told as she sets one potato down and focuses her attention on the other. She spends a good amount of time on the first one, and a little less on the second. Hopper supposes she’s getting bored with this task, but he doesn’t say anything. If she wants dirt on her potato, that’s her choice.

“All clean?”

“Yes,” she says, using the hand towel nearby to dry them off as she leans over to look at the book. “Place… potatoes in pan,” she reads diligently before moving the potatoes to the casserole dish. Looking up at Hopper, she waits as if he’s supposed to give her the next step.

Hopper shrugs, pretending he has no idea what’s next. If Eleven wants to know how to cook, she needs to know how to follow recipes. He doesn’t mind holding her hand from time to time, but this is a simple meal. Surely she can follow it on her own.

“What’s it say?” he asks, gesturing to the book.

Eleven returns her attention to the page, holding her hair back with her hands. “C-Cr-Creet—”

“Create,” Hopper murmurs, pointing to the first part of the word. “That’s ‘cree’ and,” he moves his finger to the second part, “that’s ‘ate’. _Create_.”

Eleven nods, running her finger slowly under the word as she mutters, “Create.”

“Good, good. Keep going.”

“Create... pockets in the... potato using… fork.”

“‘Using _a_ fork’,” Hopper corrects, pointing at the letter ‘A’ between the two words. “You’re doing great, though.”

“Okay. Pockets?” she asks, looking up at him. This is an acceptable reason for him to step in.

“You use the fork—here,” he pauses to grab a fork from one of the drawers by the stove. “Just stab the top of the potatoes.”

“Why?” Valid question.

“The potatoes need to release steam while they cook, or else they’ll explode,” he explains, laughing at a memory of himself as a kid, learning that lesson the hard way.

“Explode?” she asks, staring at him incredulously. She’s probably imagining something like an actual bomb, and not a vegetable creating a little too much pressure.

“ _Boom_ ,” he says, mimicking an explosion with his hands. It’s not like she needs to know it’s not an actual bomb, so long as she follows the directions properly. The idea of it seems to worry her a bit, so she stabs each potato a few times.

“Good?”

“Great. Now what does it say?” Hopper’s already found the next step on the page, waiting to read along with her.

“Oil potatoes,” she reads before turning her attention to Hopper.

Shit. They don’t have oil, but that’s not an absolutely necessary step. “Let’s skip that one,” he suggests, scratching the back of his head.

“We need oil,” she insists, pointing to the step she just read. “See?”

“Yeah, I know, kid. Sometimes you can skip steps, but not always. I think we’ll be okay without, yeah?”

Eleven’s eyebrows furrow as she looks at the page again, probably wondering how he can which are okay to omit from the recipe. There’s so many things people do in their daily lives that seem small and insignificant, but to Eleven it’s all new and complex. Hopper can’t even imagine how overwhelming that must feel at times.

“What’s next?”

“Salt.”

“We got salt,” he says, reaching over by the stove and grabbing a shaker and tossing it in her direction. “Here ya go!”

The salt freezes in mid air and Eleven reaches up to grab it gently. Sprinkling salt ever so slightly on each potato, she glances over at Hopper. “Good?”

“Maybe a little more.” She’ll need something to cover up the taste of dirt she left behind. Eleven obediently sprinkles the salt a little more generously—actually, _too_ generously. “Oh, whoa, _whoa—_ ” Hopper gently places his hand on her wrist, laughing. “That’s good, kid. You’re doing great.”

Eleven blushes a little before setting the shaker down. “Oven?”

“Does it say that?”

Eleven checks the page quickly before nodding.

Hopper grabs a couple of pot holders from the drawer, handing them over to Eleven. Excitedly, she takes them both and lifts the dish with ease. Hopper opens the oven for her, watching closely to make sure she doesn’t burn herself. She has very little experience with the oven since they baked Pillsbury cookies for Christmas.

Eleven keeps jerking her head and he wonders why for a moment until he realizes her hair is getting in the way. “Oh, hey. Here,” he reaches for the blue band on his wrist, pausing momentarily to look at before leaving it alone. Instead, Hopper just holds combs her hair back for her while she slides the dish into the oven.

“Thank you,” she tells him with a smile as she closes the oven.

“I guess you’re not used to long hair, huh?” Eleven shakes her head. Hopper only vaguely remembers how to pull hair into a ponytail, but it’s been so long. Plus, Diane was always better at it, anyway.

“What now?” she asks, pulling Hopper away from his drifting thoughts.

“Hm?”

“What now?” she repeats, tossing the potholders onto the counter.

“Oh. How long are they supposed to be in oven?”

Eleven promptly walks over to the cook book, reading the page over before turning to Hopper. “Four five minutes.”

“Forty-five.”

“Right,” she nods. “Timer?”

Hopper looks around, trying to remember where he last set it down. “Oh,” he mutters, grabbing it from the top of the fridge. “Here ya go.”

Eleven takes it from him and turns the dial to 45. The clicking begins instantly. “Okay, now what?”

“Now we wait,” he says, grabbing the timer from her hands and placing it on the table by the stove. “What do you wanna do in the meantime?”

“Um… TV?”

Hopper nods, gesturing for them to take a seat on the couch. Eleven grins, excitedly hopping over to the living area. Hopper’s a bit slower given that he’s much older, and very tired. Dropping himself onto the sofa, he digs into his pockets for a cigarette and lighter.

“Oh, yeah,” he says, handing two pieces of paper over to Eleven. “These are from your friends.” Finally finding his pack of cigarettes and a lighter, Hopper lights himself a cigarette.

Eleven’s too excited about more pictures from Will to even pay any attention to Hopper’s gross cigarette smoke. It’s a bit odd that he sent two, since he always ever sends one at a time. Unfolding the first picture, Eleven grins. It’s a picture of her in her Eleanor disguise, carrying boxes of Eggos. The dress isn’t exactly the same shade of pink, but it’s fairly close. Also, her hair is drawn way longer than it actually was. Eleven’s still impressed since Will wasn’t even around to see her dressed like that.

Grinning like a complete idiot, Eleven twirls a lock of her hair around her finger. “Pretty,” she murmurs, wondering if she fits that description now that her hair isn’t short anymore. According to Mike, she was pretty even with her shaved head. _Really pretty_ , she remembers.

“Hm?” Hopper glances over to look at the picture. “Oh, wow. You look cute with blonde hair.”

Eleven giggles as he nudges her, gently folding the picture back and places it in her lap. The next one has her name on it, but it doesn’t look like Will’s handwriting, which she’s grown quite familiar with since he sometimes sends notes with his pictures. Eleven looks up at Hopper, quirking an eyebrow.

“Who?”

Hopper has his head tilted back now, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “Huh?” His head pops up and he looks at the folded paper. “Oh. That’s from Mike.”

Eleven inhales sharply, her stomach fluttering madly as she looks at the folded paper again. “Mike?”

“Yeah. He came to the station again today,” he takes a hit off his cigarette. “Kept demanding to see you, but I convinced him to just write a letter.”

Before Hopper’s even finished with his sentence, Eleven’s quickly unfolding the piece of paper, nearly tearing it in the process.

 

> _Dear El,_
> 
> _I know this isn’t the same as visiting you in person, but this was the_ _greasy pig’s_ _chief’s way of compromising. I don’t have a lot to say that I can write in a letter, so I figured maybe you could meet me tonight. (Hopper, if you’re reading this: NO, I don’t mean in person.)_
> 
> _If you want, you can visit me telepathically. I’ll try to make sure to have something interesting to say by then, but I make no promises._
> 
> _Again, I know this isn’t the same as seeing each other face to face, but it’s the best I can do for the time being. We’ll be together again, El. Just hang in there._
> 
> _Meet me at 5:15, okay?_
> 
> _Mike_

 

As soon as Eleven’s finished the letter, she looks at the nearest clock. The small hand is close to the five, but it hasn’t quite made it to it, yet. A long sigh passes her lips as she looks at Hopper.

“Five one five,” she says, handing him the letter so he knows the context. “Help me remember?”

Hopper sticks the cigarette between his teeth as he looks at the note with hesitation. Finally, he takes it from her and reads it. With a nod, he hands it back. “Yeah, sure,” he says as she folds the letter back and places neatly with Will’s picture. “You’ll have to remind me to remind you, though.”

Eleven shoots him a look, hoping he gets the hint that this is serious. She can’t miss seeing Mike at five one five! Sure, she’s visited him without an invitation before, but usually he’s just hunched over his desk or sleeping. Once, she accidentally visited him while he was undressing to get into the shower. That was the last time since she didn’t want to accidentally invade his privacy again. The thought still brings a blush to her face, making her feel as if the world is imploding on her. It was the most humiliating thing, to say the least. Thankfully, he only had his shirt off.

Now that Mike’s actually given her a specific— _and safe!_ —time to visit him, she doesn’t want to miss it.

“Okay, okay. Sorry,” Hopper says, taking the cigarette from his mouth and holding his hands up in surrender. “I’ll help you remember.”

Hopper turns his attention to the television, which is still on Eleven’s favorite channel, ABC. It’s got a lot of dramas that she loves, like All My Children and General Hospital. Right now, though, nothing seems as interesting as the prospect of seeing Mike tonight.

“Hey, can we look for a _Bonanza_ rerun?” Hopper asks, wrinkling his nose at whatever local programming has taken up the time slot for the moment.

“Mm,” Eleven hums, unfolding the letter from Mike and reading it over again. Her mouth twitches into a grin as she pushes herself up, walking to her bedroom as she continues to read the letter.

Mike didn’t exactly write anything poetic or romantic like the guys on her favorite shows would, but Eleven doesn’t care. The fact that he wrote her anything at all makes her feel so special. The fact that he keeps bothering Hopper to come see her makes her feel wanted.

Setting the letter down on her bedside table, Eleven looks in the drawer below for a roll of tape. Once she finds one, she unfolds Will’s picture again and looks for a place to hang it up. There are already several pictures on her walls that he’s drawn for her. Some are paintings, but he says they’re not very good since he’s not familiar with paints yet. Eleven thinks they’re beautiful.

Some pictures are of her, protecting Hawkins, and some are of their friends. There’s a really adorable drawing of his dog, Chester, that makes Eleven long for a dog of her own. Or any companion, really. A cat would suffice, but it’s not like she’s had the best experiences with them thanks to Hawkins’ Lab. Even a bird would be fine at this point. It just gets so lonely in the cabin.

Put these little surprises from her friends help. Knowing there are people out there thinking about her, missing her. It makes her feel less alone.

There’s an empty spot between a picture of Dart and a picture of Lucas shooting his wrist rocket. Eleven pushes herself to her tiptoes, feeling too tired to lift herself off the ground, she tapes the top of the picture, and then the bottom. Feeling pleased with the placement, she plops down on her bed and begins reading Mike’s letter again.

“It’s gonna say the same thing every time.”

Eleven peeks around the piece of paper, finding Hopper leaning against the doorframe of her room, puffing on his cigarette. Eleven sighs, folding the note and placing it in the drawer with the roll of tape.

“Potatoes?” she asks, pushing herself off the bed.

“I just checked,” he tells her, nodding for her to follow him back to the living room. “They have about fifteen minutes left.”

Eleven drags herself back to the living room, feeling impatient for everything. She can already smell the potatoes, making her feel as if she’s starving. Reading and re-reading the letter makes her miss Mike even more, and she cannot wait to see him tonight. Everything is taking too damn long.

“I found an episode of Little House on the Prairie,” Hopper says, taking a seat on the couch again, clearly wanting to spend some time with Eleven. “Sara loved this show, but I could never really get into it. Have you seen it?”

Eleven nods, remembering a few times she’s come across it. It’s an okay show, but not the same as the daytime soaps she loves. “Good,” she tells him, not wanting to appear disinterested, especially if it’s something that brings him fond memories of his late daughter.

“Okay, cool,” he says with a grin, leaning over to flick cigarette ash in an ashtray on the coffee table. “The potatoes should be done before this episode is even over,” he tells her, and that actually makes TV sound a tad bit more enticing.

If it can distract her enough from thinking about all the things she’s waiting for, time will seem to move much faster. At least, that’s her experience from becoming engrossed in a program.

Two minutes into the show, Eleven fails to pay the amount of attention she was hoping to. For one, it’s too far into the episode for her to even know the context of what’s happened. Another problem is that she keeps thinking about Mike’s letter, and how his voice would have sounded had he said all those things in person.

Also, the potatoes smell really, _really_ delicious.

But, mostly, she’s focused on Mike. There’s been a constant ache in her chest for the past two years that was only alleviated by seeing him, and completely healed by his warm embrace. Maybe it’s all the overdramatic television shows she’s been watching, but apart of Eleven has become somewhat of a romantic.

She just hopes Mike feels the same way.

“Hey,” Hopper nudges Eleven’s shoulder. “You hear me?”

“Huh?” Eleven honestly hadn’t even realized he was talking to her. “Sorry.”

“You okay?”

“Just,” she pauses, glancing over at the TV that she’d been staring at, but not really paying much attention to, “focused.”

“More like distracted,” Hopper chuckles, knowing her all too well. “Wanna go get the toppings ready? The potatoes should be done soo—”

Before he even finishes his sentence, the timer is already ringing madly.

“Well,” he says, chuckling again. “Let’s go.”

The two jump up excitedly, Eleven carefully taking the potatoes out of the oven with the pot holders while Hopper helpfully holds her hair back again. Eleven sets them on the counter as quickly as possible since the pot holders are much too thin to protect her hands from the heat for too long.

“Ah!” she winces, nearly dropping the dish onto the counter. “Hot.”

“Sorry, kid,” Hopper says, taking her hands as he turns on the cold water. “Those things are worn out. I’ll get some new ones, okay?”

Eleven holds her hands under the water for a bit as it soothes the throbbing burns. “It’s okay,” she assures him with a smile. It’s not as if she hasn’t endured worse pain. In fact, this is very minor. A small sting, if anything. She’ll survive.

“So, what do you want on your potato?”

Still holding her hands under the water, she leans over to look at the recipe. “Cut potato open,” she tells Hopper, glancing at him as he opens the fridge.

“Well, yeah,” he laughs, nodding. “We still need to decide how to dress it up.”

Eleven looks to the page again since she’s not sure what goes on a baked potato. One topping catches her eye, especially since it’s something she loves putting on her Eggos. “Butter?”

“Of course,” he says, taking a stick of butter from the fridge. “What else?”

“Bacon?” she suggests, turning the faucet off. “Um… sour cream?”

“I don’t think we have sour cream,” Hopper mutters, face falling in disappointment. It’s quickly lifted again when he takes a plate from the top shelf. “Hey, look. Leftover bacon from yesterday morning.”

Eleven grabs the towel she used to dry the potatoes and pats down her hands, nodding excitedly. “Good.”

“What about some diced onion?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder at her. Eleven grimaces, shaking her head. “Suit yourself,” he tells her, grabbing an onion from the fridge, anyway.

Together, they manage to come up with some assortment of toppings, even if they aren’t exactly what the recipe suggests. Hopper explains that sometimes recipes are just guidelines, and that they don’t have to be strictly followed. It’s always okay to adjust it to personal tastes.

Although, they both agree that it’s a shame they have no sour cream.

“Mm, mmm,” Hopper hums excitedly, tossing some dicing up a bit of onion for himself as Eleven carefully slices open the piping hot potatoes. “I haven’t been this excited for food since—”

“This morning?”

“Well,” Hopper pauses, clearly remembering how giddy he was about the sausage patties he fried up this morning. “Yeah.”

Eleven laughs, finding Hoppers obsession with food to be more endearing than it probably is. Honestly, it’s something they relate on. Living in a lab didn’t offer any opportunities to explore the limitless possibilities of food. Most of what Eleven consumed is what was necessary to keep her alive, and none of it had any purpose of enjoyment. Only on special occasions, such as her birthday or (sometimes) a successful experiment was she given an edible treat.

It wasn’t until Mike had given her Eggos that she discovered the possibility of actually enjoying what she eats. It wasn’t until she lived with Hopper that she learned the normalcy of it. Besides watching TV, indulging in delicious foods is a favorite pastime that she and Hopper bond over.

The two of them are now seated at their little table, excitedly digging into their baked potatoes. They’re still pretty steamy, so they blow on them quite aggressively as if that will do any good. Eleven’s more cautious than Hopper, though, since she’s already been burned more times tonight than she cared to be.

Hopper takes a bite, eyes practically rolling into the back of his head as he savors the taste of it. “Now that there,” he says with a mouthful, pointing at his potato with his fork, “is _bitchin_ ’.”

 

It takes a while to finish her potato since it stayed unbearably hot for a while, which is something Eleven didn’t care too much for. However, the flavor was almost worth the wait for each bite. It isn’t until she’s helping Hopper rinse the dishes that she realizes she’s almost forgotten to keep an eye on the time.

“Five one five?” she asks Hopper, and he looks over to the clock to read it for her.

“Shit,” he says, his features scrunching as he looks back at her. “It’s 5:18.”

Eleven gives him a pointed look, too which he responds with an apologetic one.

“Here,” he says, taking her plate from her and sets it in the sink. “I’ll finish these. Go do your thing.”

Eleven nods before running to the living room, picking up the television and carrying it to her bedroom. Kicking the door shut behind her, she sets the TV on the floor. Her blindfold is in the drawer next to where she put Mike’s letter, so she quickly grabs it and ties it around her head as she manipulates the channels until she finds static.

The process takes a moment given how excited she is, and guilty she feels for being a few minutes late. Thankfully, she does manage to find Mike—fully clothed—and talking to someone else, it seems.

“Uh, no. She, uh….” Eleven cocks her head, wondering who he’s speaking to if it isn’t her. Maybe he lost track of time, too? That brings her a sense of relief, if anything. Plus, Mike doesn’t have to talk to her for her to visit. It’s just a bonus, really. “She’s new in town, actually. Her name’s Jane and….” Eleven’s eyebrows quirk at the mention of her name—her real name—and feels more puzzled than before. “I don’t know. I think I really like her.”

A grin tugs at her lips, pleased to know that Mike likes her. He “really” likes her. But who is he telling this to? It’s not necessarily important for her to know, but it definitely piques her curiosity.

Unfortunately, Eleven can’t hear the other side of the conversation, but based on Mike’s thumbs up and running away, she has reason to believe it’s over. Following closely behind him, Eleven is lead down a set of stairs that are appearing with Mike’s every step. They’re familiar, and she recognizes them as the stairs to his basement.

Once he takes a seat, her fort comes into view and she grins again. She honestly can’t believe he still has it up. After all this time. It really shows how much he’s grown, though. He has to crouch quite a bit to fit in it, and even then the blanket hanging over him is brushing the top of his head.

“Hey, El,” he speaks into his Supercom. Eleven wishes she had one of her own, and even asked Hopper to get her one. He told her that anyone could tap into the channel they use, so it would be dangerous. “Sorry that took so long. Mom was being... well, a mom.” That explains who he was talking to now, but Eleven doesn’t care the moment she hears him laughing. It’s just so nice to hear anything from him, any sound he makes. However, Eleven is genuinely quite fond of his laugh.

“I can’t wait to see you,” he tells her, and Eleven takes a seat next to him, daring to reach out and touch him, but any time she tries to touch anyone in her mindspace, they disappear. So, reluctantly, she places her hands in her lap and decides to just listen to him. “I keep asking Hopper if I can, but he’s convinced you’d be in danger. Maybe he’s right. I don’t wanna risk your safety.”

Eleven doesn’t want to risk her safety, either, but Mike feels worth it sometimes. Plus, she’s fairly good at staying inconspicuous. Well, except when she distracted that mother and daughter with the swingset. That was… stupid, to say the least. She just wasn’t thinking very clearly that day. She knows better now. “School’s almost over, and summer will be starting soon,” he tells her, rolling his eyes. “Sorry, I don’t really have much to talk about. I mean, I do, but nothing interesting. I could tell you about our last campaign… but I doubt you’d wanna hear about that.” Mike pauses to scratch his head, his hair falling in his face. It’s getting so long now, just like hers. “I wish I could hear what you’re saying, if you’re…” he trails off, looking up as if he sees her, “saying… anything….”

“Mike?” Eleven murmurs, feeling hopeful.

His Supercom makes a static sound for a moment, and the two of them look at it. Has she figured out how to communicate with him? Are her powers evolving again?

“El?” Mike says, looking so excited at the prospect of talking to her. “El, is that you?”

“Mike, it’s me!” she says, grinning stupidly.

The Supercom statics again, and for a moment it’s seems like she really is reaching him.

“Yo, Mike,” comes a voice from the Supercom that definitely isn’t Eleven’s.

“Damn it,” Mike groans, clicking the button on the Supercom. “What do you want, Lucas? Over.”

“Why so bitter, man?” Lucas asks, tsking in annoyance. “You’re mom is looking for you, asswipe, so you better stop disappearing. I ran out of excuses for you. Over.”

“I’m a little busy right now, Lucas.” Mike looks visibly irritated. Although, he offers an apologetic look, close to Eleven’s direction. “Sorry,” he tells her.

Lucas cackles on the other end. “Oh, yeah? Bum some Playboys off of Steve, huh?”

“Shut up! Over and out.” Mike shuts off the Supercom and tosses it to the side. “Sorry about that, Eleven. Lucas is a dick sometimes.”

Honestly, Eleven didn’t mind Lucas’ interruption. In fact, it was nice hearing his voice as well. It’s just a little disappointing to find out that she can’t project herself to Mike, like they both momentarily thought she could.

“Anyway, as I was saying—” Mike’s cut off, and he looks in the direction of what Eleven remembers as the basement stairs. “JUST A SECOND!” he yells before inhaling deeply, then exhaling with a shake of his head. “Christ. Sorry, El. I gotta go, but I’ll try to be available at this time every night, okay?” Mike waits, as if for a response before sighing. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too, Mike,” Eleven says despite knowing full well that he can’t hear her.

Taking the blind fold off, Eleven is back in her room in the cabin. It takes her a moment to find enough energy to stand up given that her little mind trips take quite a bit from her sometimes. Hopper’s already asleep on the couch when she returns the TV to the living room, cigarette hanging precariously from his fingers. Once she sets the TV back in its spot, she takes the cigarette from him and snuffs it out in the ash tray.

After stealing a couple of Eggos from the freezer, Eleven makes her way back to her bedroom. She takes a seat on the floor by her bed, grabbing the note from Mike from the open drawer as she replaces it with her blindfold. Wiping her nose on her sleeve, Eleven rereads the note again. Just as she takes a bite of the frozen waffle, it dawns on her. She should write a note for him.

Placing the Eggos on her nightstand, Eleven digs through its drawers for paper and a pen. After collecting a few pieces of paper, Eleven takes a bite of the waffle again. “Dear Mike,” she whispers as she scribbles it to the best of her ability. Writing was never something Papa cared to elaborate on teaching her. Reading, either. Math she’s fairly good at, but only the basics. She has a lot to learn. Talking, either. In fact, Eleven doesn’t even know what to say in her letter. It’s not like she ever has much to say in the first place. Her thinking skills are quite good, she knows that, but expressing her thoughts verbally has always been a struggle.

Gathering her tools, and Eggos, Eleven sneaks back into the living room and prods Hopper in the ribs with her finger. Out like a light, Hopper simply snores in response. Eleven nudges him again, this time with more pressure.

Hopper chokes, blinking open his eyes. “Huh?” He rubs his face and looks at Eleven. “Ah, sorry, kid. You know I’m old. I like to sleep.”

“Help,” she says, holding up the papers and pen. “I want to write a letter. For Mike.”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, kid. That’s a good idea,” he says with a nod, pushing himself up straight as Eleven takes a seat next to him. Grabbing the papers and pen from her, Hopper sets them on the coffee table before pulling it closer to them. “What do you wanna say?”

Eleven shrugs, nibbling on her Eggos. “Don’t know.”

“Yeah, you’re not much of a talker.” Hopper exhales a huff, as if just as stumped as she is. “Well, what’s on your mind?”

“Mike,” she says, as if it was obvious.

Hopper laughs, nodding. “Okay, well tell him your thinking about him, maybe? Or how visiting him went. Oh! You can tell him about your first time cooking,” Hopper suggests, getting excited for Eleven. “You did such a good job, kid. You’ve earned bragging rights.”

“Thank you,” she says, giving him a quick hug, completely relieved that Hopper knows exactly what to do. He’s always so helpful with anything she’s clueless about.

She feels so lucky to have him as her new Papa.


End file.
